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THE YEARLY VERSES Of the PRINTERS Lad, who carrieth about the Pennsylvania GAZETTE, to the Customers thereof. JANUARY 1. 1740.
BY annual Services Estates are held,
The Rent unpaid the Tenant is expell'd:
And I, subjected by my Tenure, pay
A new struck List of Rhymes on New-Year's Day.
Sure, if I miss, to have an empty Purse,
And to displease my MASTER'S, which is worse,
But never was I puzzled heretofore,
So much the last Year's News to number o'er:
I'm out of Sorts, and know not what to write;
The War's begun with Spain.—but who will fight?
Unfitted for this Task, a Tale I'll tell,
In Hopes the Substitute may do as well.
Two loving Neighbours, but unlike in Sense;
(For one rely'd alone on Providence)
Resolv'd, the first, his Houshold to secure,
By Arms prepar'd, and Locks on ev'ry Door;
Th' other ne'er to be upon his Watch,
But 'gainst Temptations, and his Doors to latch,
To keep out Winds and Rain, or Dogs and Swine;
From Thieves defended by a Fence divine.
Oft' had these Neighbours been in deep Dispute,
But neither could the Other yet confute:
The first then thinking how with honest Guile
He could his Friend to Reason reconcile,
Goes in the Dead of Night, his Pewter takes,
And Prize of all his loose laid Treasure makes.
The Loser in the Morn perceives his Loss,
Reflects full sorely, on so great a Cross;
Refuses Meat, grows thin; his Looks are pale;
And loud he would, but durst not loud bewail:
His Neighbour saw, and pitying did restore
The Goods purloin'd, and bade him bolt his Door.
But he still thinking Providence was near,
That try'd his Faith by such a simple Fear,
Resolv'd more firmly to rely on him,
And more and more to merit his Esteem.
Not long, alas! he liv'd in this Resolve,
Seasons and Things in Motion quick revolve;
Thieves desp'rate, came within the Neighbourhood;
They try'd a House, and there the Bars withstood;
They came to this (and here a Latch was all)
An Entrance gain'd to Kitchen and to Hall;
And rifled ev'ry Place, and left him Poor,
Who thought himself in Providence secure.
Thus miserable grown, he sought his Friend;
Have you said he contriv'd to speed my End;
I'm robb'd of ev'ry useful valu'd Thing,
Except my Bed, which no Repose can bring.
Quoth he, what I can spare I will bestow
To help your Need, but not to make you owe;
To me this dire Misfortune is not due,
I once for Caution kindly cozen'd you;
The Warning miss'd its Aim, yet I'm your Friend,
And would your Thinking with your Living mend:
What Virtue or good Reason can there be
In baiting Hooks for Vice and Robbery?
As Preservation is our eldest Law,
In which the Wise have yet observ'd no Flaw,
It well becomes us to secure our own,
While we thereby do Injury to none.
Can Providence be pleas'd to see us lay
The Fruits of Labour to be stole away?
If at my Face a Rogue should clench his Fist,
Is it Religion if I don't resist?
Believe me Friend 'tis not—nor God we serve,
By feeding Villains while our selves may starve.
An honest Industry becomes a Man,
And to preserve his Freedom if he can;
But if with all his prudent Care he fails
The last Great Day must equipoise the Scales.